Southern Heat (Southern 6)

I look down at this man who I don’t think has slept since I came here. I have never seen him with his guard down, but I get to look at him for once, without him looking back at me. I get to see the softness of his face. I get to see the way his hair falls softly on his forehead. I wonder if his hair feels like silk.

Who the hell is this man? I have so many questions about him and no way to find out. The only way I can find out is if he tells me, and I’m not going to ask him. Because I know if I ask him the question, I have to be ready to answer his questions, and I don’t know how to do that without baring my whole fucking soul.

He must sense I’m watching him because his eyes blink open for a second and then close again, only for a couple of seconds before he blinks again as he looks up at me staring at him.

He gets up, groaning when he rolls his neck. “Did I wake you?” he asks softly.

“What are you still doing here?” I ask, and he looks at me with a confused look. “Who are you really?”

His voice comes out almost in a whisper. “I can ask you the same,” he says, and I swallow down the lump in my throat that comes out.

“I don’t know what you mean,” I say and avoid his eyes. “I’m no one.” I blink away the tears that threaten to fall. I blink as fast as I can to fight them away.

“You are not no one,” he says, his eyes hard. “I don’t know your story, and I’m not sure you’ll actually tell me, but one thing I know for sure is that you are not no one.” He looks down at his hand on top of mine, and he slowly moves it off. The cold air hits my hand as soon as it’s free from his. He sits back in the chair. “Do you want water?” he asks as if he just didn’t stop my heart in my throat.

He walks out of the room, and only then do I let a tear escape, wiping it away as soon as I feel it on my cheek. “He didn’t mean it,” I tell myself. “He doesn’t know you.”

He comes back into the room with a cup in his hand. “Do you want me to open the shades?” He holds the cup in his hand and holds it for me. “The sun is almost set to rise.”

The cold water feels refreshing when I take a couple of sips. “I take it you’re a morning person?”

He smiles and chuckles. “You can say that.” He puts the cup down, walks over to the shades, and opens them. The sky is still dark, but you can see that the sun is about to rise.

“Do you watch the sun rise every day?” I don’t know why I’m asking him.

“Pretty much,” he says, looking out the window. “I get up at around five.”

“Why?” I say before I can stop myself.

“I guess my body is just used to it,” he says, and I want to know why. “My mother said I was the worst sleeper out of all of us.”

“All of you?” I ask, intrigued by his statement.

“I have a brother, Reed, who is two years younger than me, and my sister, Harlow, who is five years younger than me.” His whole face lights up when he talks about his family. “Do you have any siblings?”

“No,” I say, shaking my head, and I don’t add the thank God.

I don’t say anything else because he looks back out of the window. For the first time in my life, I watch the sun rise without having the fear that I don’t know where I will be that night. For the first time, I don’t have to wonder if he is going to be in a good mood or not. For the first time, I watch the sun rise without hating the fact that I’m alive.

The yellow sun slowly takes over the whole sky, and for the first time in my life, I wish I was outside to feel the heat on my face. I close my eyes as the sun shines in the window. “Maybe soon,” Quinn says. “We can see if we can watch the sunrise outside.”

“Why do you like watching it?” I ask him.

“It’s almost therapeutic.” With a smirk, he grabs a container of pie and comes over to me. “It’s like a restart.”

“That makes no sense.” I shake my head.

He smiles at me. “It makes all the sense in the world.” He opens the container of pie. “Let’s say today is one of the worst days you’ve ever had.” He starts to talk. “And the only thing you can think of is I can’t wait for this day to be over. You ever have those days?”